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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291061">Chapter three</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple'>ToxicPineapple</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arguing, But in like a sad way?, Character Study, Head Injury, Hurt/No Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Missing Scene, TWO Missing Scenes Actually, Tentatively Canon-Compliant, Terminal Illnesses, Trans Oma Kokichi, Unreliable Narrator, developing feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:48:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Awwww, I could ask you the same question, y’know!” Ouma opens his hand to reveal an empty palm, and when Momota groans, he beams, turning to wash his hands. He keeps talking while he lathers up, a broad grin on his face. “But the truth is, Momota-chan, I wanted to see you! I was just sooooo lonely without you, y’know, absolutely wasting away in my bedroom and wondering where you were! I had to go find you! Did I mention you’re the love of my life?”</p><p>“Cut the bullcrap, Ouma,” Momota sighs. He turns away from Ouma, rolling down another paper towel and ripping it off. There’s an almost imperceptible shake of his hand as he folds it in half to dry his hands, and it makes Ouma frown. “You don’t have to tell me nothin’ you don’t want to, but I don’t got the patience for your shit right now.”</p><p>He sounds… tired.</p><p>---</p><p>Ouma discovers Momota's illness, and Momota tends to Ouma's head after he hits the floorboards.</p><p>(And Ouma can't start getting attached to a dying man.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimcloud/gifts">Jimcloud</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927813">Hope Searching</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonery/pseuds/Lonery">Lonery</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ooga booga!! only chapter two is inspired by the fic i'm linking but i still wanted to link it because it's the first fic i ever read with this concept :)</p><p>as for jimothy, you're gay and i'll talk to you in the end notes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ouma waits for Gonta to finish making his rounds of the courtyard, and then darts past the man on silent feet, moving quickly to get to the main building. He has to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>extra </span>
  </em>
  <span>careful when it’s Gonta, because the guy’s got killer reflexes and heightened senses like some kind of anime character or something, and right now he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>completely </span>
  </em>
  <span>drank whatever kool aid Angie is providing at those student council meetings, so there’s no way even Ouma would be able to talk his way out of it if Gonta caught him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe somebody else. But Ouma knows from personal experience how difficult Gonta is to convince when he’s made his mind up about something. And sure, Ouma could plant seeds of doubt in his mind about Angie, see about turning the big guy back over to Ouma’s side, but honestly, he doesn’t see all this cult business lasting longer than a week, if he’s being generous. And he doesn’t care </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>much about having Gonta around, even if Gonta is sort of the only person who will have anything to do with him now, since Toujou was executed. Ouma doesn’t need friends, he has work to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Plus, well, maybe he’s a little curious to see if Angie’s plan here is going to work out. Just a little bit. He doesn’t like that she destroyed that flashback light, of course, but he could honestly care less about the damn tunnel. There’s no way anybody’s escaping through a route that Monokuma and the Kubz set up. As much as Ouma hates doing what people tell him to do, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to give credit where it’s due; if Angie manages to get everyone here to stop wanting to leave and just, live happily forever, then yeah, the show will probably be cancelled. She’s got that right, even if her reasoning is all wrong. Sue Ouma for being a scientist. But he’ll stand by for now, out of respect for Angie’s cojones.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily, Ouma manages to get across the courtyard without trouble, slipping into the hallway and releasing a breath. He’s not exactly safe here or anything, but Chabashira could frankly give less of a fuck about actually enforcing curfew-- which Ouma can respect-- and Yumeno and Shirogane are easy to get by. And don’t even get Ouma </span>
  <em>
    <span>started </span>
  </em>
  <span>on that clunky robot. Even if Kiibo </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>see Ouma walking around, he’s way too slow to catch Ouma, and by the time he gets back around to tell Angie, Ouma will already be safe in his room, and it’s not like they can really do anything to him after that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not that Ouma necessarily thinks that Angie would try anything, but that’s neither here nor there, and cult mentalities are scary. Besides, you can never be too careful. Trusting someone other than yourself in a killing game is pretty much the same thing as walking up to Monokuma and </span>
  <em>
    <span>asking </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to kill you. Ouma isn’t a moron. He really can’t afford to be, if he wants to get anything done here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…Having said all that-- Ouma pushes himself off the wall with a sigh and runs a hand through his hair as he starts down the hall, keeping his footsteps silent and listening for any sounds, just in case-- Ouma doesn’t have a whole lot to be doing in here right now. He’s investigated every inch of this building and the areas around it, enough to even discover the words written on the room of the boiler wall, and probably loads of other things that nobody’s been willing to check. The only reason he’s awake right now is for the thrill of breaking curfew. Nobody tells </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouma Kokichi </span>
  </em>
  <span>what to do. If they try, he’ll just make them regret it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that’s… all good and well, it really, really is, but Ouma also has no idea how to spend his goddamn time here. He scuffs at the floor with his shoe and huffs a little under his breath. This is annoying. Maybe he could sneak into the warehouse for some snacks, or to stare down at the shot put balls so that he remembers the importance of not trying to be a martyr. Idiotic as Akamatsu was (and he has to call her an idiot in retrospect, so he doesn’t get sad about it) she taught the lot of them a valuable life lesson.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not that he thinks it’ll be heeded. With this group? Yeah, they’re fucked. Momota alone serves as constant proof that no matter how inspiring Akamatsu’s final death speech was, this whole lot took all the </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong </span>
  </em>
  <span>messages from what happened to her. Sure, it was horrible, and they should end the killing games. But talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>dramatic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Akamatsu and Saihara spent a good five minutes of that trial just </span>
  <em>
    <span>staring </span>
  </em>
  <span>at each other, and Monokuma was playing fucking mood music in the background, but yeah, sure, this isn’t reality TV. Honestly, Ouma wonders sometimes about what would be happening if he wasn’t here, how these morons would even--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hey, is that coughing? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ouma stops walking, frowning mildly, looking around the hallway for the source of the noise. These rooms aren’t exactly soundproof, so it could be coming from anywhere, but Ouma thinks it’s coming from the bathrooms, which he’s just passed, so he backtracks slightly to see if his ear is right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a boy who’s coughing, and based on who’s still alive and the octaves the other boys in their “class” speak in, Ouma is forced to conclude that it’s Momota in there. It’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>ugly </span>
  </em>
  <span>cough too, hoarse and thick, and it sounds guttural, painful, in a way that Ouma has only ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span> people coughing before. He frowns to himself, his brow furrowing, and shifts on his feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had thought it was a bit weird when he passed Saihara and Assassin-chan in the courtyard and saw them training without Momota, but honestly the guy preaches so much that Ouma wouldn’t be surprised if he was completely talk, right down to all the bullshit about your mind and body being connected. Besides, at the time he’d had better things to worry about, like the presence of Gonta, roaming the courtyard, and also anything that isn’t an optimistic space himbo whose hobbies include flirting with assassins and punching Ouma in the face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(Tch.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sure is wondering about it </span>
  <em>
    <span>now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>though, listening to Momota cough through the door, and it occurs to Ouma that this is actually pretty invasive, just, listening in, but he’s not sure really what he should do, if he should walk away and pretend he never heard it or burst inside and demand that Momota give his vaccine history. He doesn’t seem like the type to be an anti-vaccer, but you never know with people these days, right? And if what Momota has is contagious, then he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>better </span>
  </em>
  <span>be telling other people, because they’re all fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>trapped </span>
  </em>
  <span>together here and Momota can’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much of a moron.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ouma seethes for a moment, pondering the concept of a scientist idiotic enough to pretend he doesn’t have an illness, and then it occurs to him that Momota has been coughing for a while, and, actually, Momota doesn’t necessarily </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be sick to be coughing like that; he could also be poisoned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s that thought that possesses Ouma to grab the door and push it open, a grin spreading across his features on instinct, his hands flying up to the back of his neck once they’re free. The coughing stops abruptly, and Momota, leaning over the sink, turns his head away with a grunt. Ouma pretends like he doesn’t see the vibrant magenta staining the man’s lips and skips past him to a bathroom stall, kicking it open and stepping inside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them say anything while Ouma is pretending to use the bathroom, which is sort of counter intuitive, he thinks, especially when he came in here to see if Momota is inches away from being the next victim in this hellhole, but it’s inherently awkward talking to a homie while shitting so he can only imagine how it might feel with someone he hates. Not that Ouma has to use the bathroom, or anything, but it’s for the bit, y’know, might as well keep it realistic. Ouma flushes the toilet with his foot, because ew germies, and slips out of the stall, beaming at Momota and coming up to the sink beside him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey! Momota-chan! I just found a really neat bug on the toilet bowl, wanna see?” He sticks one of his hands, fingers closed lightly over his palm as though he’s holding something in his fist, right up into Momota’s face. Momota bristles, and recoils, turning to face Ouma entirely. The blood is washed from his face by now, but tellingly his goatee is still a bit damp, and the corners of his eyes are moist, probably from any tears that managed to escape during the coughing fit. Sympathy squirms in the pit of Ouma’s stomach and he shoves it down, because he can’t afford to be getting soft on </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>right now, not least of all an idiotic spaceman who’s probably gonna die soon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get that outta my face, man,” Momota grumbles. His voice is hoarse, and Ouma politely pretends he doesn’t hear Momota clearing his throat, nor does he see the tiny twitch at the corner of Momota’s eye. Probably a suppressed wince. That can’t feel good after all that coughing. “What’re you doin’ out past curfew?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Awwww, I could ask you the same question, y’know!” Ouma opens his hand to reveal an empty palm, and when Momota groans, he beams, turning to wash his hands. He keeps talking while he lathers up, a broad grin on his face. “But the </span>
  <em>
    <span>truth </span>
  </em>
  <span>is, Momota-chan, I wanted to see you! I was just sooooo lonely without you, y’know, absolutely wasting away in my bedroom and wondering where you were! I had to go find you! Did I mention you’re the love of my life?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cut the bullcrap, Ouma,” Momota sighs. He turns away from Ouma, rolling down another paper towel and ripping it off. There’s an almost imperceptible shake of his hand as he folds it in half to dry his hands, and it makes Ouma frown. “You don’t have to tell me nothin’ you don’t want to, but I don’t got the patience for your shit right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sounds… tired, in a way that Ouma doesn’t feel like he would be if this cough was just something that started happening tonight, as it would be if it was the result of poisoning. Unless he’s been being poisoned over the long term, but that doesn’t feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>to Ouma, doesn’t quite make sense; it feels more like Momota knows exactly what his problem is, and is just… hiding it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That pisses Ouma off, a little bit, but he gets it. Revealing that kind of weakness in a killing game is a fool’s move. Even if Momota’s probably got some stupid heroic reason for doing it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Geez, you’re so mean to me, y’know,” Ouma’s frown deepens, and he tilts his head to the side. “You’re gonna make me cry one of these days.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Momota gives a mere grunt in acknowledgement of that, tossing the paper towel and starting towards the door. “See you in the morning, man,” he tosses over his shoulder, almost lazily, as he steps up to leave. Ouma doesn’t have any real reason to stop him-- it’s not like he cares about Momota, not really, he doesn’t care about </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the people here but least of all Momota, who’s loud and stupid and reckless-- but for some reason he still speaks, after watching Momota’s back for a second, his expression turning neutral.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you even done coughing, or are you going somewhere where you can let the rest of it out?” Momota freezes, his hand inches from the doorknob, his shoulders tensing at once. Ouma is almost regretting saying it, but he’s already here, so he continues, “And don’t bother lying to me, I heard you from outside. There was blood on your face when I came in.” He frowns. “I don’t need Momota-chan telling me anything stupid about what I may or may not have heard, just what it is. ‘Cause if you’re contagious, or if you got poisoned, then hiding that would be really stupid, y’know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s quiet, for a moment, still, and Ouma is seriously wondering if he’s just gonna make a break for it in a moment here, and then he slumps down with a sigh, lowering his hand from the door knob. When Momota turns around, he looks tired, still, more than he did before, and he leans himself against the door, closing his eyes. “Doubt it’s contagious, but I’ve been tryin’ to keep from touching anybody anyways, or touching my face a lot, that sort of thing.” He shakes his head. “I’m not being poisoned, either, so you don’t gotta worry about anything like that. Still got a bit of kick left in me.” This is said like Momota </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be grinning for it, but he isn’t, and it makes Ouma feel a bit sad, somehow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How long’s it been happening?” Ouma rinses the soap off his hands and goes for a paper towel of his own, scrunching it up and just generally being a lot less careful drying his hands than Momota was. It feels weird, foreign, being serious like this, especially around Momota of all people, but Ouma would feel off trying to lie, or make light of the situation, at least while Momota is actually being honest about it. “Have you known for a while?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“First coughed the morning of the magic show,” Momota admits, after a moment of hesitation. “So not too long.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and it occurs to Ouma that his hair is a lot more disheveled than it is usually, the carefully gelled spikes messy and partially undone, probably for this exact reason. “It’s really not anything I can’t deal with, Ouma. No need to get weird about it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think Momota-chan’s the one being weird,” Ouma says, but he doesn’t push the subject, shaking his head a little. “I dunnoooo, that cough I heard sounded pretty painful, y’know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Momota insists.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a dumbass,” Ouma retorts, and before Momota can protest, he continues, “Do your little sidekicks know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Momota’s eyes widen. “What, Shuichi and Harumaki? Hell no, I wouldn’t want to worry them, they’ve got enough going on.” He shakes his head. “Shuichi’s got plenty on his plate without me dumping this on him. And it’s nothin’ to worry about, anyways. I got it covered.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frowning, Ouma reiterates, “You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dumbass,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d want to know,” but he drops the subject, letting out a sigh, wrinkling his nose at Momota. “When’d you learn to be so good at lying, huh? I wouldn’t have even known if I didn’t come in here with a trump card.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A hero’s gotta have a lot of tools up their sleeve.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna try that one again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! C’mon, it’s true,” Momota huffs, “sometimes I need to bluff my way out of a situation, or tell a lie so I can defeat the big bad guy. It’s not that weird.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is hardly something like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bluff, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Momota-chan.” Ouma folds his arms across his chest. “What if I never found out, and you died from this--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna die, it’s fine,” Momota tries to interrupt, but Ouma powers through.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“--and then nobody had any idea what killed you? The trial would be ridiculous, everyone would be looking for a murderer, nobody would have any idea that you died of a silly little illness that you could’ve just </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>everyone about and worked out. Doesn’t it suck coughing alone, Momota-chan? Doesn’t it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>people </span>
  </em>
  <span>who care about you, why push them away? For what reason?” Ouma realises there’s an ounce of genuine anger in his voice, but the flare dies down when Momota winces, lifting a hand to his temple.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you care, anyways?” Momota opens his eyes, glaring bitterly at Ouma, but Ouma can’t find it in himself to glare back, not when there’s no real resentment in those lilac eyes, only pain. “Didn’t you say yourself you find all of this entertaining? Why are you suddenly giving a shit now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ouma doesn’t have an answer for that. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>give a shit,” he argues regardless, “about you or anyone, space man, so don’t get it twisted.” Ouma huffs. “I just hate seeing dumbasses throw their lives away over stuff like this, when there’s an easier answ--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not throwing my life away!” Momota interrupts, straightening up a little, and Ouma grits his teeth. “It’s gonna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not gonna die from this, it takes a whole lot more than that to kill the Lu--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>lying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to yourself, Momota!” Ouma snaps. “You’re pissing me off!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The both of them fall quiet, then, breathing, and Momota ducks his head to cough lightly into his sleeve, and Ouma is distracted from his anger just as long as it takes Momota to recover, straightening up again, his eyes closing. He really does look so damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ouma can’t find it in himself to feel as pissed off as he’d like to, or even to insist that Momota go outside and tell Saihara and Harukawa what’s going on right this second. For a moment, Ouma is considering going over Momota’s head and telling everyone regardless, but…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, this isn’t a danger to everybody, Ouma can’t excuse it like that. This is just… pathetic, Momota is pathetic. It would be stabbing down, and Ouma doesn’t do that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(His chest hurts so hard it’s almost like </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one with the cough.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re you gonna do when it gets worse, huh?” Ouma scowls, and runs a hand through his hair, looking away so he doesn’t have to see the look on Momota’s face. “Keep lying until you fade away?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not gonna get w--” Momota starts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Quit it,” Ouma huffs. “We both know that’s not true, Momota-chan, no matter how much you’re repressing it. Just stop. It’s exhausting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Momota sighs, and he’s quiet, for a moment, looking at the wall, his brow creased, like there’s something that bothers him there. Ouma can’t decide whether what’s really getting to Momota is what’s in front of him, or what’s inside of him. “I dunno. I’m trying not to think about it.” His voice is quiet. Ouma will accept that answer, though, even if it’s cowardly and a little bit selfish, to keep getting everyone attached to him like that when he knows he’s dying. Cowardly and selfish though it may be, at least it’s honest, and that’s more than Ouma can say for himself, if he was in Momota’s position.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair enough, Momota-chan,” Ouma looks down at his nails. “But you’re gonna have to think about it eventually, y’know? Can’t keep running from the truth forever, and it’d be real boring if they killed off the hero character with an illness. That’s pretty much the oldest trick in the book.” He looks up at Momota, his expression neutral, and Momota looks back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For all his stupidity, it’s really hard to tell what this man is thinking, especially now. Ouma isn’t used to seeing him look so exhausted. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, with a sigh. “Gotta make sure nothing happens to the protagonist. Dunno what kind of story it’d be without me.” He grins, but it’s fake, and Ouma’s responding smile is fake too, wide and plastic and gross on his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the spirit, space man,” he says, quietly, and when Momota grabs the door again, he skips on through it, humming a little to himself, sticking to Momota’s side on the way back to the dorms. Not for any particular reason, just, it’s warm right here, next to him, and there’s a bit of a breeze in the courtyard this late at night, and maybe Ouma feels a little bit safer around this idiot than he does when he’s alone, if for no other reason than, all the lies and hidden illnesses aside, Momota is every bit as good as he pretends to be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You won’t catch Ouma admitting that, though. Especially not for a dying man. There’s a reason Ouma can’t get close to these assholes, and it’s that Ouma doesn’t let himself get attached to people he’s inevitably going to lose.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>reminder this chapter is inspired by Hope Searching by Lonery, it's linked in the first chapter. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ouma’s so dizzy he nearly misses the last step going down from the third floor, stumbling as he reaches the first, gripping the hand rail. This is a lot of things-- painful, humiliating, a bit scary in that Ouma isn’t safe like this, disoriented, nor is he particularly light on his feet which means that if somebody </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to ambush him, they could, and they can’t, because Ouma’s got shit to do, he’s busy, he needs to end the killing games and stop all of this but first he has to survive this goddamn trial so he can’t get killed like this, he can’t-- but mostly it’s an inconvenience. How is he supposed to investigate like this? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>obnoxious, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because now he has to leave everything up to Saihara and the assassin, and well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He likes Saihara well enough, thinks the guy has a good head on his shoulders whenever there’s a dead body involved, but Ouma just doesn’t trust like that. Ouma has to know everything, every fact, every detail, he has to be ready for </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>during the trial, because otherwise he’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he can’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>like this, damnit, his head hurts so bad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dragging his hand along the wall, Ouma stumbles out from the stairwell and starts guiding himself in the direction of the exit. Luckily he’s spent so much time in this building that even without his head screwed on straight, his legs take over, carrying him over to the courtyard doors. The downside of this is that by the time he arrives, he has no more idea of where he is, and he nearly collides with the door, only for it to open right before he can, sending Ouma right into somebody’s chest, instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first thing Ouma thinks is </span>
  <em>
    <span>great, I’m gonna die, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then he feels a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and oh wow, that’s warm as shit. He closes his eyes, swallowing, and lets out a breath. At least the person killing him has warm hands. Amami had really warm hands. Ouma misses Amami. He was a shitty liar and a pathetic, angsty twink, but at least he was good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“--ma, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouma, </span>
  </em>
  <span>hey, look at me, c’mon man.” Whoever is speaking sounds pretty frustrated when Ouma decides to tune in-- and Ouma thinks he can detect a layer of concern beneath that, too, though he’s not entirely sure that that’s not just his imagination. He almost asks what the point is of looking at the person who’s going to kill him, but his eyes are already moving up to see who it is, and he takes in the lilac of Momota’s eyes, and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Ouma says, aloud. He thinks he cuts Momota off with that, but he doesn’t particularly care; it’s not like he can understand what the man is saying either way. “It’s you.” Ouma feels a bit faint, actually. He closes his eyes and exhales, smiling slightly. “That’s a relief.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, he sinks down to the ground, and before he can fully register Momota leaning down to catch him, his consciousness slips from him, and the world goes dark.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…For a while. Ouma’s consciousness eventually does return to him, slowly, enough at least that he can process that he’s lying down now, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>freakishly warm, like somebody swaddled him in blankets. It’s almost uncomfortably warm, actually, but Ouma’s face and shoulders, which are uncovered, are a bit chilly, so he’s inclined to think that the blankets are a good thing, at least until he gets his bearings, here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to focus over the throbbing in his head, though, a constant, consistent pulse in his temples that’s almost impossible to ignore. Ouma groans softly and lifts a hand to his temple, releasing a breath through grit teeth and then inhaling, and--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s AXE. The smell is everywhere. Ouma scrunches up his expression, because, fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>disgusting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>dude, and cracks his eyes open, glaring sourly around the room. Just as he suspected from the smell, he’s in Momota’s room, which he can figure out by the pile of bloody tissues in the trash bin by the bed, and the purple jacket draped over the back of one of the arm chairs. He can hear the sink running, faintly, from the bathroom, and when he looks over he sees that the door is cracked open, just enough that he can see Momota in there washing his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Indignant, Ouma turns his head away, glaring at the wall opposite the bathroom. Really? He ran into </span>
  <em>
    <span>Momota? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of all people… Ouma grumbles a little to himself and puts his hands down on the mattress to pull himself up carefully into a seated position, his back leaning against the headboard. He should brace himself for the pep talk that’s inevitably going to come after this, whatever bullshit encouragement Momota is going to pull out of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass </span>
  </em>
  <span>to try and get Ouma to behave differently, since Momota helped him. It’ll be obnoxious, because of course Momota doesn’t get it, doesn’t get why Ouma has to stay separate, but that aside… if it had been somebody else who Ouma had run into, Iruma or Shinguuji or Shirogane, there’s no telling what could’ve happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ouma is lucky that he just got the starry eyed moron, honestly. But Momota’s not going to get that. Ouma might as well just let him talk. It’s the least he can do in exchange for all of this. (And Ouma really </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>owing people, so he’d better get </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of the way, too, as fast as he can.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bathroom door creaks open, and Momota emerges, drying his hands with a towel, his expression unreadable, though his eyebrows raise when he spots Ouma sitting up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Momota turns and nabs something from the bathroom, walking over to the side of the bed and carefully handing it to Ouma. It’s a pill bottle, and when Ouma turns it over to read the label, his vision still a bit fuzzy around the edges, he sees that it’s a bunch of painkillers. Thoughtful. (Ouma’s chest aches, just the slightest bit.) “Good you’re awake, I was worried I was gonna have to rouse ya.” The bed creaks slightly as Momota sits down on the edge of it, which Ouma finds strange, because without his jacket and button down, Momota honestly looks rather skinny, clad in nothing but the white t-shirt with the dumb red pattern on the bottom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clasps his hands together in his lap, and Ouma follows them with his gaze, just, looking. Even at this proximity, Momota is a bit warm, though Ouma could honestly just be imagining things right now. This is so damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>inconvenient. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s a stupid, gooey feeling in his chest, like he got back when he was ten, watching Trey clean up and bandage all the dumb little stab wounds on his hands from one too many rounds of the knife game, and it’s not… Ouma can’t afford it. Not because Momota will hurt him (or try to, at any rate) but because…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s your head?” Momota’s voice brings Ouma out of his thoughts, gentle, subdued, and Ouma lifts his gaze to meet Momota’s eyes for a moment, searching his expression. It’s impossible to tell what this man is thinking, which is inconvenient in the best of times but right now it drives Ouma mad. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>Momota; how can someone be so surrounded by friends and admirers and </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>choose to isolate himself? Ouma isolates out of necessity, it doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he does it because he has to, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>win. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Victory for Momota feels more like a happy ending with all of his loved ones. So why doesn’t he let them in? “Anything wrong with the bandages, or are you good?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bandages? Ouma lifts a hand to touch his head again, and his fingers scrape against rough gauze, and, huh, Momota bandaged his head. It still aches, obviously, but that’s to be expected, it’s not like Momota is a god… though he did come out with painkillers. Ouma frowns down at the bottle in his hands again. Mmmm…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I can get you some water,” Momota says. He’s already standing up, starting over to the bathroom, halfway there by the time that Ouma realises he should probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>something, no matter how disoriented he is, and how similarly odd it is to see Momota behaving this way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can dry swallow it,” Ouma’s hand fumbles on the child proofing device on the bottle cap. Tch. These things are insufferable and Ouma’s motor control is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the best right now. “It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Takes me less effort to get you some water,” Momota replies, which, fair enough, Momota. Ouma’s not the one between the two of them who cuts off his nose to spite his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Haha, what a funny joke.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need help with that, by the way?” Momota keeps the bathroom door open while he fills a glass of water for Ouma, and Ouma peers over at him, watching his profile, illuminated in the pale yellow light from the bathroom. He has a striking profile, a strong jaw and cutting eyes. If Momota stopped wearing all those big dumb grins, if he shaved off the stupid goatee and let his hair down, he’d be really handsome, Ouma thinks. “It’s fine if you do, those bottles get me too.” He turns off the sink and walks back over with a glass of water, resuming his seat and holding the glass out to Ouma.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After looking at it for a moment, Ouma reaches out to take the glass, dropping the pill bottle into his lap. His fingers are weak, and he barely manages to close them all the way around the cup. It’s infuriating, especially when the condensation on the glass makes it start to slip, but then one of Momota’s large hands is being placed down over his, keeping it up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a wry smile on Momota’s face when Ouma looks up. “Easy, don’t wanna get my bed wet, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah, that wouldn’t be the best. Or Ouma’s binder, for that matter, but he’s already vulnerable enough like this, no need to just go around… saying shit. Ouma looks at Momota for another long moment and then nods, and allows Momota to help him lower the cup down to rest on his knee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Momota releases the glass (and Ouma’s hand, which feels cold in Momota’s absence) to scoop up the pill bottle, swiftly popping off the lid and shaking a couple pills into the palm of his hand. He holds them out, and Ouma takes a hand off the glass to allow Momota to drop the pills into it. He looks at them for a moment, frowning, and then up at Momota, who tilts his head slightly. “You want some help?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Ouma denies. Talking is a bit hard right now, which is… tough, it really is. He’s gonna have to get over it by the trial. “I’m not a baby.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Know you’re not,” Momota murmurs, and Ouma decides he’s not going to try and analyse the odd look on Momota’s face right now, tipping his head back and dropping the pills into his mouth. He manages to pick up the glass on his own this time, taking several gulps of the cold water. It chills him slightly, but it feels nice against the overwhelming warmth of Momota’s bed, his gaze. Ouma lowers the glass, and then holds it out to Momota with a huff, and Momota dutifully takes it from him, setting it on the nightstand next to the pill bottle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s… hard to meet Momota’s gaze, now, for reasons Ouma can’t really bring himself to articulate. It feels nice to be taken care of like this, to be babied, even if Ouma feels a little bit stupid that Momota had to open the damn pill bottle for him. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ouma Kokichi, </span>
  </em>
  <span>damnit, he can take a couple pills. But it’s nice, it feels nice, and Momota isn’t giving him any lectures, or preaching about anything, so it’s… it’s fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It won’t last, though. The fact that Momota even has the painkillers on hand is proof of that, the waste bin full of bloody tissues. Even Momota himself, with the bags under his eyes and the odd, intense look on his face, is proof that none of this is going to last, that eventually, Ouma is going to put his plan into action (Angie is </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, dead dead dead, her own plan didn’t work, it was never going to, but Ouma wishes she didn’t have to be the cost) and make a monster out of himself, somebody who they’re all going to hate-- who they’re going to have to-- and eventually, Momota is going to die, choked to death by his own pride, his refusal to speak up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though Ouma has to wonder, now, in the silence, if speaking up would even do anything for him, if Momota wasn’t just fucking doomed from the start. There’s no way he was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This has to have been some sort of-- of plot device, of thing to make more drama. Kill off the mentor hero character and create the best kind of character development, or whatever. There’s no way they’d choose someone with an illness like that unless it was on purpose, and how could Momota become an astronaut in the first place if he had a terminal illness? No, that was them, that was…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Monokuma, and whoever is behind Monokuma, whoever it was that put them all here, whoever’s running the damn show. It makes Ouma feel sick to his stomach, a feeling which is perhaps exacerbated by the dull throbbing in his head, but the pain is starting to ebb, now, fading away into a background sensation, beaten back by those painkillers. It’s leaving Ouma the space to think more clearly, but at what cost?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ouma finds himself focusing back on Momota, again, making a conscious effort to come out of his thoughts. Momota is already looking at him, which makes Ouma feel some kinda way, but when they make eye contact, Momota doesn’t avert his gaze, nor does he show any sign of embarrassment at having been caught, his eyes half-lidded and thoughtful. Right now, with his guard so far down, Ouma allows himself to think for a moment about how pretty Momota’s eyes are-- or, well, maybe just how pretty Momota himself is, stupid goatee and hair aside, especially right now when he looks so serious, so quiet. So tired.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does it still hurt real bad?” Momota’s voice is quiet. “Or are you thinking about something that’s upsetting?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmmmm?” Oh, brother. Ouma isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>emoting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>is he? What a pain in the ass. “How’d Momota-chan know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Which one is it?” Momota snorts. “Which one did I know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I asked you first!” Ouma insists, jutting out his lower lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I asked the </span>
  <em>
    <span>first </span>
  </em>
  <span>question,” Momota points out, “and I--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shshshsh! Shut it, space man, I’m injured!” Ouma purses his lips and closes his eyes, lifting his chin in indignation. “If you start being mean to me when I’ve got a handicap, I’m seriously gonna start crying, y’know? It’s definitely gonna happen!” He opens his eyes and wills tears into them, which is a lot easier right now than it usually is even, and it’s never particularly difficult.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, don’t,” Momota puts up his hands in a placating gesture, “don’t cry, especially not like you usually do, you’ll give yourself a headache.” He frowns, lowering his hands, and waits for Ouma to be neutral again (which takes a minute because it’s hard to rear those tears back in) before he speaks, sighing. “You’ve got a wrinkle in your brow, like somethin’ hurts, or you’re thinkin’ about something that you don’t like.” He shrugs. “At least, that’s what I thought. I don’t really understand you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think Momota-chan could understand a whole lot more than he does, if he wanted to,” Ouma says, closing his eyes, but that’s actually a bit too vulnerable for the moment so he brings that thought back into hell and tucks it away. “Buuuuut, it was definitely the former. I’m in sooooo much pain right now, y’know, you must’ve given me some kind of poison!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a lie, right?” Momota grins ruefully. “Placebo’s probably set in by now. Besides, you’re acting more normal again. You were really quiet there for a minute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geez, space man, no need to be getting smart all of a sudden, Ouma’s going to lose his edge. He pouts. “What happened to the stupid Momota-chan who falls for all my lies, huh? You were supposed to panic and check the label and realise I was lying!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well,” Momota huffs, “I’ve never been </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but maybe I would’ve, usually.” He furrows his brow and looks away. “You’re just kinda easier to read right now, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s funny, because Ouma has never found Momota more </span>
  <em>
    <span>difficult </span>
  </em>
  <span>to read. “Hmmmm, speak for yourself on the stupid part.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>speaking for myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But anyways,” Ouma rolls his eyes, gesturing with a hand. “Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>wanna know what the problem is? It might make you kinda sad, y’know? I know it makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>sad.” There’s more truth in that than Ouma’d like to admit. This is so stupid. He needs to get out of here quick and get back to the investigation, stop thinking soft thoughts about a dying man who is inevitably going to hate him someday.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know,” Momota points out, frowning. “Besides, you already know my biggest secret, right? So…” His brows knit together, and he shrugs. “You can tell me whatever. Not like I’ve got any reason to spread that shit around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That makes Ouma feel a bit funny. “Well, now that you’ve said that, I feel kinda bad about what the answer </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>is. It won’t give Momota-chan a chance to be a gentleman like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Momota’s frown deepens. “What do you--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All I’m thinking about, Momota-chan, is that it’s a real shame that you’re so sick,” Ouma says, impulsively, fighting to keep his expression blank and neutral, the way he always makes it when he tells the truth. “Because you’re stupid and arrogant and insufferable in your best moments, but at least you’re good, y’know? You didn’t have to help me like this, it’s not like anybody would blame you for leaving me on the ground there. And I doubt you’re gonna spread around that you did this, either, which means it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>about being the hero, right? You just wanted to help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ouma,” Momota’s eyes are wide. “I--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shhhh! Shut up, I’m not finished,” Ouma lifts a finger to press against Momota’s lips, silencing him. “You should ask for help too. I know that you won’t, but if I didn’t at least tell you, that’d be pretty dumb of me.” Ouma swings his legs out of bed and steps into his shoes, standing himself up. When he’s upright, he manages to only wobble momentarily, though he does shiver at the loss of the warmth. When he turns to look back at Momota, part of him wants to just fling himself into the man’s arms and pull them over his shoulders, pretend like it wouldn’t be fucking stupid for him to get attached, like they aren’t both doomed. “I gotta go investigate, y’know? Those guys have nothing without me, nishishi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ouma, wait, you shouldn’t be moving around so fast after getting hurt,” Momota’s brows knit together and he stands, reaching for Ouma’s arm, but Ouma manages to dance out of the way, beaming up at Momota before he slips over to the door, swiftly unlocking it and pulling it open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hate to kiss and run, my beloved Momota-chan, but I’ve got places to be, y’know? People to kill. Maybe we can make this a triple murder!” Ouma is already halfway out the door as Momota starts forward, protesting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ouma-- hey, Ouma, wait-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then he does catch Ouma’s wrist, his grip strong but not rough, fingers closing around Ouma’s arm. Ouma frowns down at his hand and then looks up into his face, raising his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes? I’m a busy man, y’know, Momota-chan. Things need doing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine,” Momota waves his hand, rolling his eyes, his lips pressing together as his gaze returns to Ouma’s face. “Whatever. Be stupid of me to try and stop you, just take it easy. I just…” he exhales, running his free hand through his hair and then meeting Ouma’s eyes, frowning. “Did you… mean what you just said?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, about you?” Ouma raises his eyebrows. “Seems like Momota-chan’s still got a little bit to learn about me, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Impulsively, ridiculously, Ouma reaches up, taking Momota’s jaw in his hand and bringing the man down, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Momota pulls away, his eyes wide, face flushing, Ouma smiles, and says, “I’d never lie about something like that, y’know? Not when we’re alone. That’s the truth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Koki--”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See you around, space man!” Ouma darts away, while Momota’s distracted, and shoots him a wide grin before he turns to run off, slipping swiftly from the dorms and back across the courtyard. Hopefully he’ll have enough time to finish the investigation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ouma pretends like the tears stinging his eyes as he returns to the third floor are just from the residual ache in his head, and when he bumps into Kiibo, he bursts into sobs, just for a moment, wailing about how Kiibo wronged him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When it’s time to stop crying, though, he does. Ouma is good at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And it would be ridiculous for Ouma to cry over a dying man.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm literally so mad at you for getting me into oumota, i can't even begin to articulate this</p><p>in other news, hello boomer nation. i can't believe you're literally my dad? this is fucking crazy. it's been, over a year since we met and almost a year since we started talking regularly and that's really hard for me to visualise? lol. but i have to give you so much credit and love and appreciation for the way you've been here for me over the past couple of months, even if i can be such an asshole, you've been really kind and patient with me in ways that you really didn't have to</p><p>you hold up SO many people and i just think you deserve to be appreciated today :) i'm writing up this note like eighteen days in advance so it's possible i'll write you another fic but if i don't, well, you'll know. this isn't gonna be the last gift fic i write you at any rate so don't stress about that lol</p><p>thank you for being my friend jim :) ily</p><p>also big thanks to sun for beta-ing this fic for me it is from both of us</p></blockquote></div></div>
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